Beth Norvell

"Well, gents, we might as well bring this affair to a focus, although

no doubt you two understand the meaning of it pretty well already. I

've got warrants here for the arrest of Winston and Swanson. I hope

neither of you intend to kick up any row."

The white teeth of the young mining engineer set like a trap, his gray

eyes gleaming dangerously beneath frowning brows. Instinctively he

took a quick step forward.

"Warrants?" he exclaimed, breathlessly. "In God's name, for what?"

Hayes tightened his grip on the gun butt, drawing it half from the

sheath, his eyes narrowing.

"For the murder of Jack Burke," he said tersely. "Don't you move,

young man!"

There was a long moment of intense, strained silence, in which the five

men could hear nothing but their own quick breathing. Before Winston

everything grew indistinct, unreal, the faces fronting him a phantasy

of imagination. He felt the fierce throb of his own pulses, a sudden

dull pain shooting through his temples. Murder! The terrible word

struck like a blow, appearing to paralyze all his faculties. In front

of him, as if painted, he saw that fierce struggle in the dark, the

limp figure lying huddled among the rocks. Murder! Aye, and how

could he prove it otherwise? How could he hope to clear himself from

the foul charge? Even as he yet swayed unsteadily upon his feet, a

hand pressed across his eyes as if shielding them from that horrible

vision, a voice, deep and strident, rang out: "Mike an' me have got the two cusses covered Mr. Winston. If they

move, or you give us the highball, we 'll plug 'em dead centre!"